


Contract Killer

by ironmermaidens



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Bisexual Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Charon Backstory, Female Character of Color, Gen, Gratuitous References to Fake Pop Culture, Hurt/Comfort, Male-Female Friendships, Moral Ambiguity, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Canon, Team Bonding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-08 04:01:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15234873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironmermaidens/pseuds/ironmermaidens
Summary: They say that the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. If Sandy keeps acting on hers, she may find out if that old saying is true sooner rather than later. She purchased Charon's contract to free him, but he tells her he doesn't want her freedom. Threatens her over it even. So maybe, Sandy reasons, what he needs is not a savior, but a friend.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandy makes a purchase. Charon lays down some ground rules. 
> 
> Chapter TW: gun violence, public shootings, violence against women, graphic description of injuries.

The Ninth Circle, like most nights, had attracted a sizable crowd into its premises. The Museum of History was by no means as bustling as Rivet City or Megaton, but there were enough ghouls in Underworld to fill the establishment up until the radio was inaudible over the din of The Ninth Circle’s patrons. Even still, Sandy sat at the bar beating her fingers to the rhythm of the song she thought was playing, stopping in the middle of her crude rendition of _Jolly Days_ and switching into _Easy Living_ as she caught a snatch of the song during a lull in the noise.

Her rhythm died down into an irregular tapping before stopping entirely. She glanced behind her at the doors, or more accurately, at the bouncer who stood by them, arms crossed over his chest as his gaze watched the crowd shrewdly. She watched him for a moment until his gaze swept over and met hers, and with a sharp intake of breath she whipped back around to face forward once more, picking her tapping back up as she had left it. Movement caught out of the corner of her eye made her turn her head to see the bar owner, Ahzrukhal, approaching.

“Back again so soon, smoothskin?” the ghoul wheezed as he pressed his hands on the bar on either side of her, as if trapping her there. She had to admit, she felt more like a caged animal now than she had before he approached. “To what do I owe the pleasure, kid?” 

Sandy swallowed a lump in her throat and pulled a pouch off of her lap, tossing it as casually as she could muster onto the counter before her. The metal clatter of the bottle caps within was unmistakeable, and Ahzrukhal perked up at the sound. Sandy did her best to steady her voice. “You know what I’m here for.”

Ahzrukhal reached for the bag, but before he could touch it Sandy’s hand shot out to rest on top of it protectively. There was only the slightest tremor in her voice as she said, “You can see these when I see the contract.”

Ahzrukhal chuckled at that, and it set her teeth on edge when he did. “I gotta admit, smoothskin, I didn’t think you’d be able to do it. This wasteland isn’t a friendly place for a kid like you.”

“Well, I did do it,” She responded, and Ahzrukhal chuckled again, more of a wheeze rattling in his throat than a laugh. He turned to his wall safe, and Sandy’s grip on the cap pouch relaxed as she watched him turn the dial and open the door.

“You know, this will be no easy loss for me, kid. Charon’s been a good employee. Losing his… _skills_ is gonna hurt.” Ahzrukhal said as he pulled a faded piece of paper out of the safe, closing the door loosely and turning back to her. “But, a deal is a deal. Two thousand caps for Charon’s contract.”

He offered the paper to Sandy, and she could see that he was just as tense as she was. Reluctant to relinquish hold of something so valuable. She grasped the edge of the paper gently between her fingers and pushed the pouch closer to Ahzrukhal. “And not a single cap more.”

Ahzrukhal’s hand closed around the lip of the pouch and as it did he finally released his hold on the paper, Sandy pulled it closer to herself, examining it for authenticity, although she wasn’t sure what she would be looking for to spot a forgery from the real deal. The paper was wrinkled and frayed at the edges, and the words that weren’t too faded to see were either meaningless connectives or far outside of her range of literacy to understand. Across the bar, Ahzrukhal weighed the pouch in his hands.

“Yes, this should be plenty for me to recoup my losses here,” he said. “Now then, I’ll allow you to tell Charon the good news yourself.”

As if his words had broken a spell on her, Sandy hopped off her stool swiftly and without so much as a goodbye to the ghoul bartender. She hardly felt he deserved such niceties. She pushed through the crowd to the doors, and to the bouncer stationed there, stopping in front of the giant of a man. She’d never stood close enough to him to truly appreciate just how tall the bouncer was. He towered over her—not that it was hard for people to be taller than her at only five feet tall—but now standing right in front of him, she realized he had to have nearly two feet on her.

“Charon?” Sandy ventured.

She wondered if he had heard her when he didn’t immediately respond. As she opened her mouth to repeat his name she was cut off by the bouncer’s rough, grating voice. “Talk to Ahzrukhal.”

“Oh!” She said, eyes widening a bit. “Oh, no, I already did, I have something to show you, actually!”

She held up the paper for him to look at. “I bought your contract! See?”

“You purchased my contract from Ahzrukhal?” Charon responded in astonishment. A tenseness left his muscles as he processed the paper held before him. “So, I am no longer in his service.”

Charon set his jaw, his eyes sharpening. “That is good to know. Please, wait here. I must take care of something.”

“Oh, yeah, sure! Okay!” Sandy responded, lowering the contract and stepping aside as Charon pushed through the crowd much more effectively than she had, back towards the bar. Sandy watched him step behind it with Ahzrukhal and make a brief exchange before Charon pulled his shotgun off his back and pointed it directly at Ahzrukhal’s head. She had no time to react.

There was a shot, and blood all over the bar and the wall behind it, all over the patrons seated at it, and Ahzrukhal’s mangled body falling in a heap the ground. Then another shot. The gunfire hadn’t even stopped ringing in her ears before it was replaced with frightened screams and scraping chairs, the patrons of The Ninth Circle pushing one another out of the way to reach the exit, pushing Sandy out of the way, pinning her against the wall and leaving her gasping for the air that was knocked out of her lungs from the shock and from pain. She pressed herself into the corner, out of the way of the stampeding ghouls until the room was cleared, turned over tables and chairs, Ahzrukhal’s mutilated body, and Charon the only things left behind with her. She could hear the radio clear as day in the silence left behind by the fleeing patrons.

“ _The songs the lustiest, the friends the trustiest, way back home,”_ Bob Crosby crooned to the audience of two. She hadn’t even noticed Charon approach her until she heard his rough voice once more above her. 

“Alright, let’s go.” he said, as if he had only made a quick stop to say hello to an old acquaintance and not blown another man’s head clean off his shoulders.

She could only numbly nod in response, and allowed herself to be ushered out of the bar and into the concourse of Underworld, away from the bloody mess in The Ninth Circle. Whether any of the ghouls that had been witness to Charon’s violence were watching them as they exited, Sandy didn’t see. She simply focused on leaving, walking forward on wobbly legs until she found herself at the broken T-Rex display in the lobby, where she finally stopped her feet from carrying her forward. She heard Charon behind her stop as well. 

“What… what was that all about…?” She asked finally, and was relieved that her voice only shook minimally as she did.

Charon didn’t hesitate to answer, as if he had been anticipating the question. “Ahzrukhal was an evil bastard. So long as he held my contract, I was honor bound to do as he commanded.”

“Oh,” she said, and took a deep breath to steady herself. She looked down at the paper still clutched in her hands, the contract that bound Charon to the service of whoever held it. “It wasn’t right. What happened to you. This shouldn’t exist.”

Sandy’s grip on the paper shifted, her fingers moving to hold it from the top edge.

“I won’t let someone like Ahzrukhal exploit you ever again,” she said, but before she could rip the paper as she intended a rough hand encircled her wrist, gripping so tightly she couldn’t help but gasp and let go of the contract.

“Don’t,” Charon said firmly, tone dangerous.

“What?!” She exclaimed, whipping around to glare at Charon. She was startled to see that same sharp glint in his eyes as he had before he had murdered Ahzrukhal in the bar. She had meant to shout at him, but now seeing that look he gave her, she couldn’t help but focus on the way the bones of her wrist were rubbing against each other in his iron grip, and her next words came out much more timidly than she had hoped they would. “D-don’t… Don’t you want to be free, though?” 

“I am not a slave,” He spat back, releasing her wrist. She pulled it away from him quickly, holding it close to her chest and taking a step back, as if removing herself from his reach. He made no attempt to attack however, instead leaning down to pick the contract up from where it had fallen. Then, to Sandy’s surprise, he turned and offered it back to her. She hesitated, then slowly reached out for it, only to have Charon jerk it away from her again. “Physical violence on your part invalidates the contract. That includes violence against the contract itself.”

Sandy’s response was barely more than a whisper. “I understand.”

Finally, Charon offered the paper back to her again, and she took it in shaking hands.

“If… if you’re not a slave, then that means you don’t have to do everything I say, right?” She asked.

“The contract covers combat services only,” Charon responded.

“Okay. That’s… that’s not so bad.” Sandy ran her fingers through her hair and let out a sigh. “My name is Sandy, by the way.”

Charon simply grunted in response.

“…Is your name really Charon? Or was that just what Ahzrukhal called you?” She asked.

“I have had many names over the years. Charon is the most recent.”

Sandy furrowed her brows. “Do you… want me to call you Charon?”

“I do not care what you call me,” Charon replied.

“…Okay.” Sandy looked between the doors out of the museum and the doors into Underworld, debating her options. “…We should go back into Underworld. It’s too late to be running around the Ruins.”

She looked up at Charon then. “Do you… think they’ll still be upset about Ahzrukhal?”

Charon grunted. “Very few people had any love for Ahzrukhal beyond the booze he provided them.”

“Great. So we probably won’t get chased out by Cerberus.” Sandy smiled a bit, though her brows were still knitted together from her nerves and anxiety. “That’s good. We can get some real mattresses to sleep on then.”

Sandy folded the contract up and tucked it safely away into her backpack, then the two turned and headed back into Underworld for the night.

———————

Sandy grimaced at the dark purple bruise that had formed on her wrist that night. In the morning light it stood out on her brown skin in high contrast, and even if she hadn’t been able to see it, she certainly could feel it. Every time she rolled her wrist it throbbed dully, but she continued to shake the limb out, hoping maybe this time something would _pop_ and the pain would finally go away.

“Headed out, kid?” Willow rasped as she and Charon approached the stairs down into the Metro.

Sandy gave her a warm smile and nodded. “Those ruins out there aren’t gonna scavenge themselves.”

“You be careful out there, smoothskin,” Willow responded, then turned her cloudy gaze to Charon, sizing him up. “And you, Charon. You keep an eye out for her, you hear me?”

If Charon felt anything besides complete indifference at the request, it didn’t show on his face. “That is my job.”

Sandy gave a small, weak laugh at that, but as they descended into the Metro she couldn’t help but think she should have asked Charon to stay behind in Underworld. Every twinge of pain in her wrist reminded her of just how dangerous he really was, and her mind could focus on nothing more than the blood covering the bar of The Ninth Circle. His job might have been to protect her, but his presence did anything but make her feel safe.

Her rumination was interrupted by a heavy hand coming down on her shoulder, causing her to jump. She turned to Charon, who’s other hand was held to his mouth, shushing her, then he pointed forward towards a derailed train car ahead. At first, Sandy saw nothing of concern, but a moment later there was a twitch from low under the car and a guttural sounding growl. Ferals.

Charon unholstered his shotgun and held it aloft, then motioned for Sandy to follow him. He took the lead with careful, low steps through the metro rubble. His shotgun always remained pointed in the direction of the train car, though his eyes shifted between the car and his path. Sandy followed his lead, taking her 10mm pistol from her belt and doing her best to copy his steps. Her shorter gait, however, made it difficult. They had barely made it past the train car when she made a fatal misstep. Glass crunched under her boot, and suddenly the directionless groaning and hissing of the feral ghouls became alert as they searched for their intruder.

Sandy froze. One ghoul raised its head in her direction. It let out a howl. Charon’s hand fell down on her shoulder again, pulling her out of the feral’s direct line of sight, shouting, “Get back!” at the same time the rest of the ghouls joined their companion’s howling.

The first feral ghoul was charging straight for them, heedless of the shotgun aimed directly at its chest. Charon fired, the ghoul jerking back as the buckshot impacted and the sound echoing painfully in Sandy’s ears off the metro tunnel walls. The ghoul gave a hiss and continued its charge. Charon shot again, and this time the ghoul went down, twitching and writhing on the ground. Once more, and this time the ghoul stilled. Behind him, three more ferals had climbed the rubble of the train car and were following the first’s lead.

They rushed directly for Charon, not because they attacked fellow ghouls, Sandy knew, but because they wanted to get to her. Three more rounds of buckshot kept them at bay. Another two ghouls came running from their right. Sandy whipped around, firing her pistol in their direction. Her first shot missed entirely, but the second clipped one of the ferals in the shoulder, and the third went through the ghoul’s neck. She took aim at the second ghoul.

She could hear Charon firing his shotgun at the first three ferals, but had no idea if he was finding any success. She fired at the ghoul. Miss. Another shot, another miss. The ghoul was getting close now, too close, and Sandy fired again as she took a step back. This one connected with the ghoul’s thigh, slowing it down, but not stopping it. It let out a howl as it continued limping towards Sandy at an alarming speed, arms flailing wildly.

Before Sandy could fire another shot, the ghoul was upon her. Her head slammed into the ground as the ghoul tackled her, clawing at her face and arms and hissing. Sandy did what she could to fight back. She threw her left arm up in front of her face to protect herself and used her other to try to throw the ghoul off of her, swatting at the flailing arms and gnashing teeth. In retrospect, she should have known it was a bad plan. She took a swing at the feral’s head, fist connecting with the ghoul’s cheek, but it did little to deter it. Instead it took the opportunity to sink its teeth into Sandy’s forearm. Sandy screamed.

She abandoned any semblance of strategy, instead letting her arms and legs flying in an attempt to dislodge the ghoul. The ghoul released her, startled by the sudden flailing, and Sandy used the opening to throw the ghoul off of her. She scooted away from the feral, feeling for her gun as she went, but not taking her eyes off of it. It howled again and scrambled to right itself, to chase its prey, but as its eyes fell back on Sandy there was another final gunshot and the feral’s head exploded into a gory mess, its body slumping to the ground.

Sandy yelped and looked up to see Charon surveying the metro ruins for signs of any other feral ghouls before turning his attention back on Sandy. Her breath hitched. He looked dangerous again, jaw clenched in a scowl and shotgun held at the ready as it was. But if Sandy was expecting him to finish her off, he didn’t. Instead he replaced his shotgun in its holster and stepped over the feral ghoul’s body, reaching down to offer her a hand up. After a moment of hesitation, she took it and was pulled to her feet.

“Where are you hurt?” Charon asked, and Sandy couldn’t help the breathy laugh that escaped her. Her head throbbed where it had made contact with the ground, in her shoulders and hips where she had been pinned and her back where her backpack had dug into her spine, in her arm where she had been bitten, on her face where she had been scratched. She hurt everywhere. Charon would have gotten a shorter answer had he asked where she wasn’t hurt.

Instead of waiting for a response from her, Charon glanced down at her arm and frowned. Sandy looked down as well. Her forearm was slick with blood, all the way to where her fingers were interlocked with his. She couldn’t see the wound from this angle, but as a wave of nausea hit her stomach she was suddenly glad she couldn’t.

“Sit back down,” Charon commanded, and Sandy obeyed without a second thought, dropping to the ground with as much grace as a bag of rocks. Charon’s grip on her hand was all the kept her from collapsing entirely. Her arm screamed in protest as muscle and skin were pulled taut.

“Give me your backpack,” Charon said as he kneeled beside her. She shrugged it off weakly, and Charon helped her pull the straps off, careful to avoid the bite. As he began rummaging inside of her backpack, Sandy brushed her fingers over the wound on her arm. She gagged at the feeling of torn flesh, deep gouges, and exposed muscle. She felt dizzy. Her mind wandered back to those old zombie holotapes she had once watched, to when a character was bit and turned into a mindless, cannibalistic monster. She knew that’s not how ghouls worked. She knew that if she died from this wound she would stay a corpse. She didn’t know which was worse. Would she die from this?

Charon was saying something to her. She could almost hear him, but everything sounded so far away, as if she was only hearing the echo of his voice down the long metro tunnel. _Wake up_ , she thought he might be telling her. Wasn’t she already, though?

Sandy’s eyes snapped open and she sucked in a breath. The rush of air into her lungs cleared the fuzziness from her sight and made Sandy realize that she had fainted at some point. She was staring straight up at the tunnel ceiling. Charon hovered above her, impassive as always. “…need to breathe. Focus.”

“I’m breathing,” Sandy gasped.

“Good. Now keep breathing.” He said in response, then turned away from her again. So she did that. Focusing on the in and the out and not on the way her fingers were tingling or the nausea roiling in her gut as she stared up at the ceiling, examining the tiles that still clung desperately to it. It even helped a little bit, until she was startled once more by Charon grabbing her arm and pulling it away from the protective position she had it in against her torso.

Charon had a bottle of water from her backpack, was pouring it over her arm to wash the blood away, and Sandy realized she wasn’t bleeding anymore. There was an empty stimpak syringe laying nearby. Now that she thought about it, her body didn’t ache nearly as much as it had earlier.

“You let your anxiety get the best of you,” Charon said, interrupting her thoughts. He set the bottle aside and began to soak the blood and water from her skin with a torn cloth. Sandy furrowed her brow at him. “If you had been paying attention then this would not have happened.”

Sandy frowned and opened her mouth to protest, but Charon cut her off before she could get a word in.

“My presence makes you anxious, doesn’t it?” Charon met Sandy’s eyes as he spoke, and she felt her cheeks heating in embarrassment.

“I-I…”

He was still watching her, expression still impassive, but somehow expectant.

“Yes… It does.” she admitted.

“My job is to protect you,” Charon said. “I cannot do that if my presence causes you to make such stupid mistakes.”

“I-I’m sorry,” Sandy said.

“Don’t be sorry. Be better.”

Sandy turned her gaze back to the metro ceiling, biting her lip. Charon continued to clean the blood off Sandy’s arm in silence.

“…Charon? Can I ask you a question?”

“I will not stop you.”

“If I lose your contract for any reason… will you kill me like you killed Ahzrukhal?”

Charon paused. “It depends on what kind of person you are.”

“I… I don’t know if I’m… a good person, but… I’m nothing like Ahzrukhal.”

“Then you have nothing to worry about.”

Sandy hadn’t even known Charon for twenty-four hours yet, but for some reason, she trusted him. She believed him. And she felt the knot of anxiety in her gut relax just a little bit.

“Okay.”

Moments later Charon finished cleaning Sandy’s arm and bandaged it, then packed her things back up for her.

“Are you well enough to stand?” he asked as he got to his feet.

“I think so,” Sandy responded. Charon offered his hand to her, his left hand so as not to agitate her wound, and helped her up once more. Sandy gave him a hesitant smile in response.

“Come on. We should get out of here, before we attract anymore company. I don’t wanna get bit again today.” Sandy said.

“If you get bit again I will not be so kind as I was this time,” Charon said.

Sandy laughed. “Okay. You don’t have to be. Thank you, though. For helping me.”

“It is my job… but you are welcome."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charon offers advice. Sandy offers pop culture. It's a pretty equal trade.
> 
> Chapter TW: unreality, gun violence, public shootings, violence against women.

The Ninth Circle, like most nights, had attracted a sizable crowd into its premises. Canterbury Commons was by no means as bustling as Rivet City or Megaton, but there were enough travelers in the small trading post to fill the establishment up until the radio was inaudible over the din of The Ninth Circle’s patrons. Even still, Sandy sat at the bar humming along to the tune of the song she thought was playing as she picked up a broken red crayon to finish her drawing, stopping in the middle of her crude rendition of _Easy Living_ and switching into _Jolly Days_ as she caught a snatch of the song during a lull in the noise.

Her tune died off as she picked up her drawing to examine it. There before a boxy house stood her mother and Charon, herself right between them, hands linked with theirs. She glanced behind her at the bouncer who stood by the doors, arms crossed over his chest as his gaze watched the crowd shrewdly, checking her work against the real deal. She watched him for a moment until his gaze swept over and met hers, and with a giggle she whipped back around to face forward once more, picking her crayon back up to adjust some of the details of her drawing. Movement caught out of the corner of her eye made her turn her head to see Ahzrukhal approaching.

“It’s getting late, sweetie, why don’t you clean up and get ready for bed, okay?” the ghoul wheezed as he pressed his hands on the bar on either side of her, a warm and open gesture. She had to admit, she felt safer now than she had before he approached. “Oh, but first do you think you could do something for me?”

Ahzrukhal offered a piece of paper to Sandy. She grasped the edge of the paper gently between her fingers.

“Can you take this bill to Charon over there?” he said, and as she nodded he finally released his hold on the paper. Sandy pulled it closer to herself, examining it to test her own literacy, but it was blank. She looked up at Ahzrukhal, who poked her on the nose. “Get going, kiddo.”

As if his words had broken a spell on her, Sandy hopped off her stool swiftly and pushed through the crowd to the doors, and to the bouncer stationed there, stopping in front of the giant of a man. She’d never stood close enough to him to truly appreciate just how tall the bouncer was. He towered over her—not that it was hard for people to be taller than her at only five feet tall—but now standing right in front of him, she realized he had to have nearly two feet on her. She frowned. She would have to adjust her drawing then.

“Charon?” Sandy ventured.

She wondered if he had heard her when he didn’t immediately respond. As she opened her mouth to repeat his name she was cut off by the bouncer’s rough, grating voice. “Talk to Genevieve.”

“Oh!” She said. “I already did, I have something to show you, actually!”

She held up the blank paper for him to look at. “She told me to bring this to you!”

Wordlessly, Charon took the paper in his hands, the frown already on his face deepening as he read the words that weren’t there. Charon set his jaw, his eyes sharpening. “Please, Wait here. I must take care of something.”

“Oh, um, okay,” Sandy responded, stepping aside as Charon pushed through the crowd much more effectively than she had, back towards the bar where her mother stood, cleaning a glass. She watched him step behind it with her and make a brief exchange before Charon pulled the shotgun off his back and pointed it directly at her mother’s head. She had no time to react.

There was a shot, and blood all over the bar and the wall behind it, all over the patrons seated at it and the drawing she had left sitting on it, and her mother’s mangled body falling in a heap on the ground. Then another shot. The gunfire hadn’t even stopped ringing in her ears before it was replaced with frightened screams and scraping chairs, the patrons of The Jackknife Inn pushing one another out of the way to reach the exit, pushing Sandy out of the way, pinning her against the wall and leaving her gasping for the air that was knocked out of her lungs from the shock and from pain. She pressed herself into the corner, out of the way of the stampeding travelers, until the room was cleared, turned over tables and chairs, her mother’s mutilated body, and Charon the only things left behind with her. She could hear the radio clear as day in the silence left behind by the fleeing patrons.

“ _Wake up,”_ Charon’s raspy voice crackled over the radio. “ _Wake up, kid!”_

Sandy gasped and opened her eyes. Charon loomed over her, hands holding her shoulders, but his impassive expression felt dangerous to her now, and his hands on her were threatening. _He killed my mom…_

Sandy’s instincts screamed at her, yelled to get away from him, get as far away from him as you can, and she obeyed, throwing a wild swing at him, her fist connecting with his jaw, causing the pressure of his hands on her shoulders to release. She took advantage of her freedom, kicking out of her sleeping bag and scooting away from him until her back collided with a nearby car frame. Now that she was out of Charon’s reach she could finally breathe, she could finally think. They weren’t in The Jackknife Inn, nor The Ninth Circle. This wasn’t Canterbury Commons or Underworld. They were in the wasteland, far west of Megaton, no where near the DC Ruins or the trading settlement that sat north of them. Charon did not kill her mother. He doubtfully even knew her.

Charon… she had hit him. Physical violence invalidated the contract. He had made it clear what the consequences of that would be. Charon still sat where she had left him, hand touching his cheek lightly as he worked his jaw. Her breathing hitched again.

“S-sorry…” She offered weakly, pressing herself against the unyielding metal of the car frame. “I’m sorry…"

Charon’s eyes flicked over to her, but the dangerous glint she expected to see was absent. Charon’s hand lowered from his face. “It is fine. An accident. Don’t worry about it.”

Sandy relaxed a bit. “You aren’t mad?”

“You were having a nightmare,” Charon responded. He stared at her for a moment, examining her, and she felt like he had her pinned under a microscope. “You have been having nightmares all week.”

“O-oh?” Sandy said. For some reason the idea of someone like Charon bearing witness to her nightmares made her feel embarrassed. “Why didn’t you wake me up before tonight?”

“You were not as restless before,” he said. “Tonight you were screaming. I did not want you to attract anything to our location.”

“Oh…” For some reason that callous reasoning disappointed Sandy.

The two sat like this for several minutes. Sandy did not feel like trying to go back to sleep after the nightmare she had. Instead she watched the few glowing embers that remained from their campfire, tapping her fingers on her knee along to a vague rhythm as she waited for Charon to finally stop watching her. She could feel his eyes on her, but it had been too dark to see if he was watching her with pity or annoyance. Neither was a particularly good option.

“What was your nightmare about?” Charon’s voice cut through the night noise, and Sandy’s eyes darted back to his, her brows furrowed.

“Huh?”

“Your nightmare. You were calling for your mother.” He explained, and her face and eyes burned hot as the words left his mouth. “What was it about?”

“Why do _you_ care?” She snapped. “She’s dead, okay? Happy now? She died and now I dream about it all the time because I watched it happen.”

Sandy’s cheeks felt wet. She scrubbed at her eyes, wiping away the rest of the tears that were threatening to fall before they could get the chance, turning her gaze back to the embers of the fire pit again, hoping that would be the end of the conversation.

“Sandy,” Charon said, and her head snapped up at her name. She tried to glare at him, but her breath hitched and she had to screw up her face to keep from audibly sobbing. “Your nightmares will not get better unless you acknowledge what happened.”

“What do you know?” She said, but her voice was thick and watery and she sounded like a small child. She felt like one too. She wanted to be anywhere but here right now. Even a deathclaw’s den would be better than sitting here talking about her dead mother and her nightmares with Charon.

“I have been alive for over two hundred years and have served terrible people who have had me do terrible things in that time,” Charon said. “I have had my fair share of nightmares.”

Sandy’s face flushed again, but this time with shame. She hadn’t even considered that Charon might also suffer from nightmares, from terrible memories that continued to haunt him. She hadn’t thought to ask him about his past. She hadn’t thought that he would be so open so quickly. She felt immediately selfish for snapping at him, her eyes dropping to the dirt and pebbles in front of her feet.

“…My mom had a bar in Canterbury Commons. We got… a lot of travelers there. People from all over the place. Drifters and stuff. Traders. This one night, a caravan guard gets all…” Sandy gestured vaguely. “He gets mad. I think… he was mad about the bill or something. He was yelling at my mom about the booze, and she was arguing with him because she wasn’t really the type to back down from a fight. But this guy, he… he pulled a gun on her. He…”

Sandy’s throat felt constricted.

“Anyway, I… You…” Sandy paused, trying to find her words. “You killed Ahzrukhal… you killed him in his bar and… and I keep dreaming that… that it’s not Ahzrukhal. I keep dreaming that it’s my mom.”

There was silence between them for a moment, and Sandy didn’t dare look up. She had no idea what Charon was thinking now. Maybe he just hated bar owners on principle. Maybe he would have killed her mother if he could have. Maybe he wanted to kill her now too. Could he change his mind about whether that punch earlier counted?

“I am sorry,” Charon said finally. “That you went through that. And that I… chose that course of actions. Had I known…”

“It’s okay,” Sandy said quickly. “I mean… Ahzrukhal was… he was evil. I know he was because he–” _because he kept a slave, just like I’m keeping one._ “–because he just was. He deserved what was coming to him. It’s not… It’s not your fault my brain can’t tell the difference between what happened a week ago and what happened years ago.”

“Were you having nightmares before this happened?” Charon asked.

“…Not… not as often,” Sandy admitted.

“I will try to be more courteous in the future. I apologize for the distress that I’ve caused.”

“…Thanks, Charon,” Sandy said, finally glancing up at him, giving him a small smile to try and show she meant it. “I appreciate it.”

Charon nodded in response. “You should try to sleep. There is still time before it is your turn to keep watch.”

“Can I just start my shift now?” Sandy asked. “I don’t… I don’t wanna go back to sleep tonight." 

Charon had her back under the microscope as he watched her, though she still didn’t know what he was searching her for as he did. Finally, though, he conceded. “If that is what you wish.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly as he prepared his sleeping bag.

As Charon laid down to sleep, Sandy spoke once more. “Hey, Charon?”

“Yes?” He responded, his tone surprisingly patient considering she had just interrupted him getting to sleep.

“You… you said my name earlier,” Sandy said. “That’s the first time you’ve used my name since we met.” 

“…Yes,” Charon responded awkwardly.

“I didn’t think you were even paying attention when I told you.”

Charon was silent for a moment. “I was paying attention.”

Charon finished crawling into his sleeping bag then, and Sandy slowly got to her feet, sitting on the hood of the car frame she had been leaning against to get a better vantage of the wasteland. 

“Good night, Charon.”

“Good night… Sandy.”

———————

Sandy still had nightmares in the weeks that followed her talk with Charon, but they happened with less frequency, and with less violence. She never found herself being shaken awake by Charon again, at any rate, and she counted that as a victory. If nothing else, she felt more rested than she had in the week after she had purchased Charon’s contract.

The bobby pin Sandy had stuffed in the safe’s lock snapped as she pushed the screwdriver just a bit too far, and she frowned. _Focus, dummy._ Sandy pulled another bobby pin out of her hair, a few strands pulling out of her ponytail with it and sticking to her face. The midday sun beat on her back in the ruins of the house she had been scavenging. Most often the houses reduced to studs weren’t worth even a passing glance, but the metal glint of an unopened safe had caught her eye and she had turned and trotted right over to it like an excited puppy, Charon grumbling on her heels. She’d cracked enough safes to know that pre-war folks kept lots of cash, lots of chems, and lots of guns in them, three things that she could sell for a pretty pouch of caps.

Sandy extracted the broken bobby pin from the safe’s lock and inserted her new one, setting to work on it once more. Charon stood a few feet away, kicking some debris around as if searching for something. He was probably just bored. There wasn’t much to look at under the rubble. There hardly ever was.

She put the sound of Charon’s boot scraping on the rotten wood and crumbling concrete from her mind, focused on the lock before her, turning her bobby pin back to where she had the previous one before it had broke, then wiggled it a bit to the left and tried again. The lock clicked and the door popped open. Sandy gave a self-satisfied smirk and set the bobby pin and screwdriver down, swinging the safe door open all the way to examine her prize. Immediately she gasped.

“Holy shit! No way!”

“What? What is it?” Charon said, whipping around to see what Sandy had found, hands twitching for a weapon. There was no need, however. Sandy was in no danger sitting beside the newly opened safe. She wore a huge grin on her face as she pulled a stack of comic books out of it.

“Grognak the Barbarian!” she exclaimed as she began to flip through the stack. “Whoa! Femme-Ra’s in this one! Yes!”

“Comic books,” Charon said flatly, letting his hands drop back to his sides.

“Comic books!” Sandy responded, looking up to give Charon an incredulous look. “Do you know how hard it is to find these? In _this_ condition?”

The pages were beginning to yellow, but they were all there and the images hadn’t been faded by sunlight and time like most of the comics Sandy had collected in the past.

“I have never read any comic books so I would not know,” Charon said.

“What? Seriously? Never?” Sandy said, gaping.

“I have not had much leisure time in the past. My previous employers did not find my own personal pleasure worthwhile.” Charon explained.

“Oh…” Sandy said. “I’m sorry… I…”

 _I, what? Didn’t know?_ Of course no one had given him personal time before. That wasn’t how slavery worked.

“Do… do you wanna look at them first?” She said instead, offering the stack of comics to Charon.

Charon hesitated to take them. “What are they about?”

“Well, there’s this Barbarian named Grognak—obviously, because the comics are named after him—and they’re about his adventures in this prehistoric fantasy world with all kinds of neat monsters, like bat-people and dragons and stuff!” Sandy said. “And there’s this one woman named Femme-Ra and she’s like a villain or something but if you ask me, she’s so much cooler than Grognak! I always hope that I’ll find a comic that’s just about her, but no luck yet…”

As Sandy babbled about the Hubris Comics canon, Charon sat across from her in the dust and rubble, taking the comic from the top of the stack to examine.

“…I wish that I understood the story better!” Sandy finally concluded as he opened the book to look at the pages. “But half the time I don’t even understand what they’re talking about. Especially not The Unstoppables crossovers. They talk so much in those and I can’t even read half the words they’re saying anyway…”

“You cannot read?” Charon asked, looking up at her, appearing strangely shocked by the idea.

“Um… I can… Just… not very good,” Sandy said, grimacing at the question. She’d had a late start and limited opportunity to practice her reading. “I can do, like… numbers and stuff. The important reading. Mostly.”

“Can you read my contract?” Charon asked, and he sounded genuinely curious.

Sandy wrung her hands. “…No. But that’s not just my fault! Some of it is too faded to see.”

“…Would you like someone to teach you?”

Sandy blinked. “Like who?”

Charon gave her a bland look. She blinked again.

“Like… you?”

Charon nodded.

“I… didn’t know you could read,” Sandy said.

“I was taught how to read in the instance that my contract holder could not do it themselves for any reason,” Charon said, handing the comic book back to Sandy.

“Like right now?” Sandy said wryly.

“Yes, like right now,” Charon confirmed.

“Do you know anything else you could teach me? Like how to hack a computer, maybe?” Sandy said hopefully.

“No, I cannot hack computers. I can teach you how to speak and read standard Mandarin Chinese, though.” Charon said.

Sandy gaped at him again. “You know Chinese?! Where’d you learn that?”

Charon shrugged. “‘Know thy enemy,’ as we were told.”

“Were you born before The Great War?” Sandy asked as she took her backpack off, unzipping it and shifting her belongings around to find room for her new comics.

“Yes, I was,” Charon said.

“Whoa,” Sandy said. “Can you tell me about that?”

“What would you like to know?”

———————

Sleeping in settlements was always difficult for Sandy. Canterbury Commons was small, and although her mother’s bar was well tread by travelers, it was carved out of the remains of a pre-war building, and Sandy’s bedroom had been well insulated from the world outside. Afterwards she had been taken in by a kind woman living alone in the wasteland, where very little would disturb their quiet nights.

Moriarty’s Saloon in Megaton was nothing like The Jackknife Inn, and certainly unlike Agatha’s isolated little home. The walls were thin, and even upstairs Sandy could hear the rowdy crowd of drunkards below. It reminded her uncomfortably of Ahzrukhal’s bar in Underworld, and she shifted in the stiff armchair she had taken up residence in. She had opted to spend the night there so that Charon could have the bed, and was surprised when he seemed to drift into sleep so easily. She supposed he had more practice blocking bar sounds out than she did. The mattress probably helped too.

If Sandy focused hard enough she could hear Charon’s breathing over the racket downstairs, and the discomfort that threatened to settle in her stomach disappeared as she let her mind grab onto that sound, anything to keep it from drifting back to the territory that her nightmares dwelled in. Charon rarely sounded as peaceful as he did when he slept. Even when he was being quiet, it was an alert, dangerous sort of silence. Despite the rugged, ghoulish quality of his voice, she preferred hearing it to hearing nothing. If he was choosing to speak then it meant he didn’t believe there was any danger nearby, and it also meant that he thought she was worth talking to.

Sandy didn’t know if she would call herself and Charon friends yet; she thought he might be more open to causal conversation with her than he had been some of his other _employers_ , but that didn’t a friendship make. It was a start, at least. It was silly to think that it made any difference, but she desperately wanted it to. She wanted to be more than just a common slaver. She wanted Charon to follow her because he wanted to, not because a piece of paper told him to. She wished that she could just get rid of it forever, but she was afraid of what Charon might do if he discovered that she had destroyed it.

So she did her best to befriend the ghoul instead. The contract didn’t say he had to be friendly with his employers—at least she didn’t think so—which meant that any time he was friendly it was coming from him, not that piece of paper. And maybe if they were friends the contract wouldn’t matter so much.

A sharp intake of air from Charon snapped Sandy out of her thoughts, and she sat up straighter, glaring through the dark as she tried to see what had disturbed his sleep. Charon let out a shuddering breath, a low growl deep in his throat following it. Sandy reached down beside the armchair, groping blindly for her backpack until she fingers caught a strap. Charon’s breathing was still uneven, like he was injured. Or like he was scared. Sandy dug her matchbox out of her bag and leaped to her feet, padding across the room to the bedside table where she lit a half melted candle.

The candle did little to illuminate the room, but it did enough. She could see Charon now in the dark gloom, his face contorted, his muscles twitching, his breaths coming from him in ragged gasps. It was a nightmare. She almost wondered what he would have nightmares about before a memory from weeks ago surfaced in her mind.

_I have served terrible people who have had me do terrible things. I have had my fair share of nightmares._

Another low growl formed in Charon’s throat, but this time it died into a weak whining sound. It almost sounded like… crying. Sandy had never heard Charon sound so vulnerable. Without thinking, Sandy reached out and shook Charon’s shoulder.

Charon shot straight up, panting, hands clenching the threadbare blanket that covered him. Sandy took a step back, remembering her own reaction to Charon waking her from a nightmare, thinking that if he took a swing it would certainly do more damage than when she had.

“Charon…?” She said quietly. He turned towards her, the light of the candle reflecting off his eyes. Awareness seemed to come to him slowly as he caught his breath.

“…Sandy.” He said finally, and she let out a breath she’d been holding.

She stepped closer, sitting on the end of the bed by his feet. “You were having a nightmare.”

“Was I?” Charon asked, but it sounded more like a deflection than a question. “Thank you for waking me.”

“Yeah. Of course.” Sandy said. “Do you… wanna talk about it?”

Charon was silent for a moment. “I would prefer not to.”

Sandy bit her lip. “You told me that nightmares won’t get better unless we acknowledge them.”

Charon grunted. “It has been too long for my nightmares to ease.”

“Charon…” Sandy started. She wasn’t sure what to say. If he didn’t want to talk to her that was his right. She shouldn’t pry. What happened to cause his nightmares wasn’t any of her business if he didn’t want it to be. “…You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want. But I’m here to listen if you need me. Okay?”

Charon did not speak for a moment, and Sandy thought that he must have wanted her to go so he could get back to sleep. She shifted, intending to stand up and return to the armchair.

“I told you that I have had many employers.” Charon said, and Sandy stopped, toes barely touching the floor. “Not all of them were bad. There was one. A young girl. Younger than you. She was killed while I was under her employ.”

Sandy had a feeling she might know where this nightmare was going. “Charon, I… I’m sorry.”

Charon continued as if he had not heard her. “In my nightmare… she returned. But she was not as I remember her to be. She was angry that I had… replaced her. That I had not done more to save her.”

For a moment the two sat in silence. Sandy wasn’t sure if Charon wanted to say anything more, and she wasn’t sure how to respond. She had nightmares like that about her mother. She knew how they made her feel, and she thought he must feel the same.

“…It wasn’t your fault, Charon. I know it wasn’t.” Sandy said, although she doubted he would believe her. The nightmares had a way of convincing you that you were to blame for the bad things that happened to those you love. She didn’t like to think about her relationship to Charon, although her mind often drifted there anyway. There was no denying what Charon’s role in her life was, and the longer she spent with him, the more she realized how important being good at his job was to him. She simply had to convince him to change his definition of good.

“You couldn’t protect her from everything. She would have known that. And she would be thankful for all that you did to try anyway. I know she would be, because…” Sandy paused. She wasn’t sure if they had known each other long enough that this would have the impact she hoped, but she had to try. “I know because I am too.”

Charon was quiet for a moment, and in the darkness Sandy couldn’t tell what he was feeling, couldn’t see his face to get a read on his emotions at all. She held her breath.

“…Thank you.” Charon said at last, and he sounded like he meant it. “I appreciate the sentiment.”

From anyone else Sandy would have taken those words to mean she had failed, but from Charon she knew he meant it. She smiled a bit, although she knew he would not see.

“You should go back to sleep. It’s only been a few hours.” She said to him.

“Why don’t you take the bed?” He responded. “I imagine the chair is not very comfortable.”

“It’s not,” Sandy said. “Are you sure you want to switch?”

“I am sure.” Charon said, and he stood up to emphasize his point.

“Okay,” Sandy said. “Try to get a little rest at least.”

“I will. Good night, Sandy.”

“Good night, Charon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charon's former employer is not actually an invention of my own, but a nod to an OC of an acquaintance I used to have in the fandom. Their URL on tumblr was “lordlargeorangesofdickery” and they ran a Charon ask blog, but have long since quit the ask blog and deleted their personal blog. You can see the ask blog’s archive at askcharontheghoul-blog.tumblr.com.


End file.
